


Touch like Poison

by nvmnd



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24543925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nvmnd/pseuds/nvmnd
Summary: Although it makes Jaskier’s skin crawl: when it’s about survival, the end justifies the means. Means which Geralt did not know of.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 224





	Touch like Poison

**Author's Note:**

> please be careful, this features (graphic-ish) mentions of sexual violence/non-con. not edited, we die like men.  
> you can also find this on [my tumblr.](https://nvmnd.tumblr.com/post/620028968226160640/touch-like-poison)

Jaskier was never really good at falling asleep.

Not necessarily because of gruesome things he saw during the days – the worst so far had been the unsolicited sex of a rather unpleasant man – but because his heart ached. All his life, Jaskier had known this ache, had known this longing. A longing for something more, something bigger. That’s why he turned to poetry. He thought people would then remember his work, remember him. He wouldn’t just be a nobody, he wouldn’t just be someone’s son, someone’s barkeeper, someone’s trader. He would be the voice for those who had none, a storyteller. He would sing of ancient creatures, gory adventures, steamy heroes. And he wanted people to love him because in the end, that is what everybody wants, isn’t it? To be recognised for their work, to be appreciated.

Admittedly things didn’t go his way and there were many restless nights in which he wondered how he was supposed to pay for food in the following days, let alone a room. There were many restless nights in which he thought about the remarks people at inns had made about his music, about him. And in all honesty, during those nights his heart did not just ache because of the longing.

Sometimes he’d seek the comfort of the warm bodies of others.

But sometimes he’d lie with noblemen and women and let their sweet wines and shining coins persuade him to do things everybody else wouldn’t even dare to think of. Afterwards the coins were exchanged by their master. The first thing he’d spend some of them on was a bath hot enough to leave the skin red and angry but never hot enough to leave blisters. He never knew whether he would have to take advantage of such methods again soon _and nobody wanted a lover with grotesque skin._ However, he’d scrub his skin hard enough for it to become red and soft for days, hard enough to have his whole body scream in agony, in pain, but he didn’t care. He needed the coin, the hot bath was a luxury, an attempt to sooth his mind. And although he’d lie in a soft bed with a full belly, smelling like the most luxurious thing to possess, roses, lavender, orange, spices, he wouldn’t get any rest that night. Or the following. But he knew he had to do it in order to survive.

At some point, his life started to change. He still hadn’t given up the dream of being recognised for his art. He just knew he was destined for things, good things, other than occasionally warming someone’s bed and letting his hand slip to disburden someone of their jewellery or coin, _he wasn’t very proud of that talent._

And when he once again sang in a tavern, much to the disapproval of the drunks, that point of change arrived when Jaskier spotted him: tall, silver hair, arms the size of Jaskier’s thighs.

And he just knew that for once he didn’t want to be the possession, but instead be the one who possesses. And he wanted to call this hunk his. 

In retrospective this was, of course, the beginning of a suicide mission and Jaskier was very aware of that. He knew there were only two ways this journey with the handsome stranger, Geralt, would end with: a broken heart or his death. Jaskier didn’t know which one was worse. But nevertheless, he persisted and sometimes Jaskier was sure that Geralt considered it as a blessing rather than a curse. Geralt cared for him and Jaskier knew it. Of course, the Witcher’s ways of showing his care were special to say the least but Jaskier recognised them as such. And they made his heart skip a beat because for once the reason for this care was not his body but his sole presence. _And Jaskier finally understood that there really was a first time for everything._

Time passed and Jaskier stayed. Geralt got better at showing his affection, much to the surprise of the bard who was certain Geralt would never be good at such things; not because the Witcher didn’t know how to be soft but instead because he was so convinced by his failures, so convinced by the people who made him, that people, creatures, like him couldn’t feel nor pretend to. _Yet an undeniable warmth in his belly spread whenever he saw how Jaskier’s eyes widened when he offered him small luxuries such as the bigger room in a tavern or even bought him a soap in a certain smell which Jaskier had longed for for weeks._

Of course, Geralt noticed Jaskier’s struggle to fall asleep. In the beginning it didn’t bother him much. Sleep was important, yes, but as long as the bard was able to walk and talk without rest, the Witcher was convinced that everything was fine. Until he noticed the smell mixed into the cool night air. It was sour like vomit and made Geralt’s stomach turn. It took him quite a moment until he found the source for the stench: Jaskier. The bard wasn’t asleep, his heart beat too fast and his breathing was unsteady, and Geralt felt a mixture of hurt and worry. Feelings with which he wasn’t all too unfamiliar with.

Jaskier stared into the void, nothingness right in front of him. The dark of the forest devoured him, forcing him to replay nights of which he thought they were buried way too deep inside of him to ever be a burden again. 

Geralt’s touch was unexpectedly soft, yet Jaskier jerked away, his head turning to look at the witcher and for a moment Geralt was scared of the emptiness greeting him. It was as if Jaskier stared right through him, like he was nothing but a stranger at most, more likely thin air. 

The bard tried to calm his breathing. “What is wrong?”. Geralt’s voice was deep and soft like honey, merely above a whisper. “We are low on coin.”, Jaskier whispered back, his blue eyes watering. Their purse was dangerously empty, they could barely afford food for Roach at the moment. In the last village, Geralt had been tricked and the crowd at the tavern had been anything but kind. Jaskier shuttered at the thought of what he would have to do in the next city, shuttered at the thought of the nobleman who would wait for him there; one who’d leave particularly nasty marks, marks which tainted his skin in greens and blues and purples and yellows.

He felt ill. 

The smell of acid burnt in Geralt’s nostrils and fear spread in his stomach. He was scared and confused, he was worried about Jaskier who seemed so far away.  
“So?”, Geralt tried to sound carefree. “So?!”, Jaskier’s voice was shrill and made Geralt’s ears ring. Yet he still heard how the bard’s heartbeat continued to speed up, noticed the smell of sweat from anxiety. He put his hand on Jaskier’s arm and squeezed it gently. “It will be fine. We’ll figure something out.”, Geralt smiled and desperately hoped it looked encouraging,”Besides, townsfolk were always very kind to you. We’ll go to a city next. We’ll make it work, Jaskier.”

And although Geralt hoped to have found the right words - because they have never really been his strength to begin with - it seemed like they were wrong all along.  
Jaskier broke down crying, feeling like he was literally about to throw up, tasting acid in his mouth already. Tears streamed all over his face and in mere seconds his eyes were red and swollen. 

And it was Geralt’s worst fucking nightmare.

He was startled, people crying in front of him were already bad enough but someone who means a lot to him was way worse. For a moment, which seemed to last forever, the witcher did nothing but watch. He was too overwhelmed while his friend sobbed right next to him. Geralt swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to pull himself together, Jaskier was obviously feeling terrible for whatever reason and needs a friend - and being a friend is the least he could do for the bard. 

And so he dared to pull his friend closer and put his arms around him. That is how he saw people comfort each other all the time - pulling the person who was upset into their arms but somehow it felt weird to Geralt. Not in a bad way, he just was not used to it. He was not even sure when he last hugged someone. 

For the blink of an eye the bard stilled only to bury his face against the broad chest of the witcher and sob quietly. Geralt was afraid he had done something wrong but when Jaskier snuggled closer to him, he relaxed only the slightest bit. He held his shaking body for what seemed like ages, warmed him so he would not freeze. The light of the flames licked their silhouette, creating a soft bubble around them and Geralt only focused on Jaskier’s heartbeat. The terrible smell slowly started to vanish. And he held his bard until he stopped shaking and sobbing, until the last tear on his cheek dried. 

“You alright?”, Geralt grunts although he knew the answer already. Jaskier hummed softly, pulled away from the witcher - oh how they both missed each other’s warmth right away - and covertly wiped the tear stains away. “Yeah.”, he cleared his throat:”Yeah, I’m alright.” A lie. Geralt did not even have to smell the air, did not have to listen to the way Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat because of the lie. 

“No, you’re not.”, Geralt whispered and Jaskier looked at him in a way he could not describe. He had no clue what was going through the other one’s head. “No, I’m not”, Jaskier admitted and swallowed hard. The lump in his throat just would not go away. 

“What’s wrong?”. Geralt’s amber look was so intense, Jaskier thought he might burn. The emotions mirrored in the witcher’s eyes robbed the bard of all the words he knew. For a while they held each other’s gaze until Jaskier closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

And then he started talking. Slowly at first, barely audible for humans but Geralt’s ears were trained, listening to Jaskier’s words was no trouble for him. Except for the fact that his heart broke and he was certain if he would clench his jaw and fists some more he would break his bones. 

Jaskier told him about how it started when he was barely a man: all wide-eyed and naive, not necessarily thinking everyone was good but certainly not expecting to have some drunk nobleman’s hand down his pants while the other hand covered his mouth to muffle the sobs. Jaskier did not step into a tavern for months. His voice was shaking while he spoke and told Geralt chronologically about the times singing was not enough to cover the costs of a room and food. He told him about the times he was storming out of chambers and started puking his guts out as soon as fresh air filled his lungs. He told him about the times blood covered his body, tears streamed down his face and he still was not allowed to leave. He told Geralt about the bruises, the guilt, the nightmares.

“When was the last time that happened?”. Geralt’s voice was pressed, his jaw clenched - a stark contrast to Jaskier’s whisper. “In Hindarsfjall.” His voice was laced in guilt. 

Geralt was angry, furious even. Not at Jaskier though but rather at himself. He should have done better. 

“Jaskier, I -” Jaskier interrupted him:”I know. I get it. I wouldn’t want to travel with me anymore with-” “What are you talking about?”. Geralt’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. 

“I- uhm, well. You’re uh, you’re clearly disgusted by me. I get it. I’m disgusted by me, too. What I’ve done is disgusting.”, the bard babbled. “That’s bullshit.”, Geralt grunts, voice sharp. Jaskier flinches. They stared at each other: Jaskier looked like a doe caught by a fox, shocked, scared, uncertain. Geralt, however, was angry, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched, a fire in his eyes. The latter closed his eyes and took a deep breath and when he opened them again, he surprised not just his friend but himself as well. 

Carefully and slowly, as if he did not want to startle the bard, he took his face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle although his fingers were calloused. His fingers caressed the other one’s cheek and something in Geralt’s gaze changed. The fire died down, his expression was soft and there was nothing but concern and something else in his face, something Jaskier could not quite put his finger on. 

“I’m not disgusted by you.”, Geralt rasped:”I’m mad. But not at you.” His fingers still caressed the bard’s cheek and he tilted his head before he continued to speak. “I’m mad because I didn't notice. I’m mad because I didn’t protect you. I’m mad because I should have done better, I should’ve cared for you more. _I should have taken care of you._ “

Jaskier’s eyes were filled with tears. “You stupid idiot”, he gasped. “How dare you blame yourself for my actions?”. But Geralt did not care, it was his fault, he was convinced. 

“Jaskier I-”, he took a deep breath:”I care about you. Very much. I’m there to protect you. And if I didn’t know that the death of these _disgusting, perverted arseholes_ would cause trouble - trust me, they wouldn’t walk the Continent for that long anymore.”

Jaskier was overwhelmed, tears slid down his cheek and Geralt carefully wiped them away. 

For once in a very long time being touched did not make him want to scrub his skin,it did not make him flinch and it did not fill him with disgust. Jaskier wished they could stay like this forever.

“I love you, Geralt”, his voice was nothing, it was barely more than the breeze of the wind but he knew that the witcher had understood him perfectly. He could tell by his smile. 

“As I love you.”, Geralt whispered back.


End file.
